There's a man called Crazy Harold in Sandfly G A
Got drafted by the Dallas Cowboys back in the day.
Found out he had a heart murmur, never got to play.
Yeah, those were his glory days.
If not a Cowboy, an Indian would do
With leather and feathers his shrines he would strew
Chanting the blessings that only he knew
By the light of the sun, under clear skies of blue.
*** I wrote this in church on Halloween of last year, using the stub of pencil from the attendance pad. The sermon was on "Jekyll & Hyde: Your True Identity" and, somehow, this poem came full-blown into my consciousness. I have had several dealings with Harold over the years - I hope he is well.
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